


of art & politics

by sadieolivia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieolivia/pseuds/sadieolivia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa Woods is a political science journalist working for the LA Times. Her schedule includes traveling all over the country and interviewing small and big politicians to get the story before anyone else. Stubbornly intelligent and kind of pretentious, Lexa has never made time for anyone in her life except for her best friend, Anya.</p>
<p>Clarke Griffin is the museum curator at the new Arkadia Museum of Modern art. She lives by the moment, even if that moment leads to disastrous results. The source of her happiness is routed in art, specifically when she makes art. Her best friend Raven encourages her defying conventional life styles, and together they make a powerful duo.</p>
<p>But when their paths cross (likely due to the fate of the universe) both have a lot to figure out as extreme opposites of one another. Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods are simply two girls from other worlds. And these worlds are inevitably colliding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of art & politics

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't my first fic but it's my first fic that i'm really excited about :)  
> hope you guys like it ! i'm pretty happy with this first chapter  
> my tumblr (it's not a clexa acc it's my personal acc but follow if you want): sadtape.tumblr.com

“Woods.” A thin, light folder drops on Lexa’s perfectly neat desk. “New assignment. An art museum is opening up next month and I want you to write something about it for the art & culture section.” Lexa quickly looks up at Ontari.

“Ontari-” Lexa begins, but Ontari stops her.

“I know, I know. You’re our political journalist. I don’t care. You’re writing this article for me.” Lexa takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair.

“Isn’t there someone more… qualified for this job?” Lexa says, her voice steady. The only time she had ever been to an art museum was in the sixth grade, on a field trip. It bored her so much that twelve year old her swore she’d never go to another art museum again. Of course, that was fourteen years ago, but her dislike for boring art museums never faltered.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re not qualified to write an article considerably easier than what you usually write?” Ontari says, looking at Lexa sternly. Lexa is proper human being, with manners and social etiquette. But god does she want to call her boss a bitch right now. Ontari knows the argument is done when Lexa doesn’t reply. “All the information is in the folder. It’s due in a month.”

Lexa stares at the folder and the sticker on the front reading “Arkadia Museum of Modern Art.” She groans and slides it into her bag.

-

It’s pretty easy to find the museum itself, especially since it’s covered in people moving chaotically in and out of it, which is expected of a museum opening in approximately one month. She parks on the side of the road and is immediately overwhelmed by the mannerless people moving past her mumbling, “Excuse me, miss,” as they shove past. She walks towards a man giving orders and taps on his shoulder lightly.

“Hello, I’m Lexa Woods,” she says. “I’m the journalist from the LA Times. I was wondering if I could speak with you about-”

“You’re looking for the museum curator,” he interrupts. “That’ll be Clarke. She’s inside, in the museum’s office. You’ll know when you see her.” Lexa walks around him as he goes back to giving orders, and walks into the messy art museum. 

There’s wood and stray pieces of art and cords sprawled all over the floor and Lexa has to watch her step or she’s sure she’ll die. Finally she makes it to the office and knocks softly before entering. Inside is a blonde woman, looking down at some paperwork on her desk. Her clothes, Lexa notices, are really plain- an oversized grey t-shirt with “Harvard Medical School” on the front and ripped blue jeans- but they’re entirely splattered in paint. 

“Clarke Griffin?” Lexa says, half leaning into the room. “I’m Lexa Woods with the, uh-” Clarke looks up and makes eye contact with Lexa. She smiles widely and Lexa’s words disappear from her mind. Clarke is beautiful, she notes in her mind. Insanely beautiful. Incredibly, unbelievably-

“With the LA Times, right?” Clarke says, finishing her sentence. Lexa nods quickly, trying to right the ever so wrong she just did by getting caught up in, well, Clarke. “Nice to meet you, Lexa. I’m the museum curator here. Come on in, don’t be shy. I don’t bite.” Clarke winks. Only then does Lexa realize she’s standing awkwardly next to the door, both her hands holding her bag in front of her. She quickly walks over to take a seat in front of Clarke’s desk.

“So really my job is to get to know you and then come to the museum opening,” Lexa states, regaining her proper self. “I was thinking we could meet once a week until the opening, if that works for you. We could get lunch somewhere on… Wednesdays?” Clarke nods enthusiastically.

“Sounds great,” she says. “I know the perfect place. It’s a little cafe called Trikru, right down the street. I guarantee you’ll love it.” She gives Lexa a wholesome smile and it catches Lexa off guard. She comes to the conclusion that even to some extent, Clarke cares enough about Lexa, a practical stranger, to go somewhere she thinks Lexa would like. Lexa always brought people she interviewed to the most expensive place around, and even then she never really thought about the food itself.

“Okay… great,” Lexa replies. Clarke may be beautiful, but she can’t help but wonder why she’d ever be dressed so casually, and talking with her as if they were long time friends. People to Lexa were stories, not really people. She had to feel that way when she wrote her political articles, otherwise she might feel sympathy towards the people she exposed in her articles. That could not happen.

This, however, was different. It was about art… something she didn’t know how to turn into an emotionless study. Art wasn’t black and white like legal crimes or projected winners of elections or national versus state laws. It required a specific type of emotion Lexa didn't think she possessed. But Clarke, she realized, radiated with this capacity for emotion. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you Ms. Griffin,” Lexa says, as she stands up. “I look forward to our lunch on Wednesday.”

“Wait, here.” Clarke scribbles something on a scrap of paper. “My number, so you can find me when you get there.” She smiles and Lexa takes the messily written note, nearly in awe of how charming the hot mess of a girl in front of her is.

-

“Clarke, who the hell was that?” Raven is standing outside Clarke’s office pulling her gloves off. Her mouth is nearly dropped although Lexa is already out of sight.

“Lexa Woods, the LA Times journalist,” Clarke says simply. “She’s interviewing me once a week until the museum opens, and she’s coming to the opening. Why do you ask?” Raven runs her hand through her hair and shakes her head.

“For a bisexual you sure don’t catch a beautiful woman when you see one,” Raven says. Clarke laughs but really, Raven’s wrong. Clarke definitely noticed how beautiful Lexa was. She has long, wavy brown hair and light green eyes that are simply captivating. She glowed with beauty, even when she was hovering by the door sheepishly. Clarke was more than happy that she was the journalist chosen for the article from the moment she walked in.

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” Clarke says. Raven scoffs.

“Beautiful and smart, just like me? She definitely seems like my type.”

Clarke laughs before saying, “Narcissist. But really, she’s totally the uptight, proper kind of girl. Definitely not a Raven Reyes kind of girl.”

Raven shrugs and turns to walk away as she says, “Whatever you say, Griffin.”

“Don’t hit on my journalist,” Clarke calls out after her best friend.

-

With Clarke’s number in her phone, Lexa realizes Clarke is the only not business related person in her phone. Other than her best friend, Anya, but still, Anya’s father is the city mayor. They had been friends when they were kids and no matter how good the article, she’d never let herself interview Anya’s father. She was almost a business contact.

With Anya on her mind, she calls her, if only to vent about the weird feeling she’s had since she left the museum.

“Lexa, what’s up?” Anya says.

“Ontari gave me the worst possible assignment,” Lexa replies. “I have to write an article about this new museum opening up-”

“The Arkadia Museum of Modern Art!” Anya says. “I’ve heard a lot about this place. Hipsters all over LA will be reading your article to see if it’s worth going to. Congratulations.”

“No, Anya,” Lexa sighs. “Remember that museum trip in sixth grade? It was the most boring thing in the world. I hate museums. Unless it’s about the history of democracy or something but this is, like, modern art- and I mean the weird stuff. Odd shapes and colors that don’t amount to anything.” Anya laughs on the other end.

“Come on Lex,” she says. “You were twelve. Don’t you think you can give up this hatred? I know it’s not your cup of tea because there aren’t any ratifications to analyze or whatever you like to do, but art is insanely interesting. It’s like a whole other world.”

“This girl I have to interview is from a whole other world,” Lexa says, rolling her eyes. “I’m from earth and she’s from space, that’s the only explanation.” 

“Is she really that odd?” 

“Anya, she wore a Harvard shirt covered in paint. She wasn’t professional in the slightest. Her choice place to eat? A local cafe. I’ve never interviewed anyone like her.”

“That’s because you interview freaks who commit their life to politics and therefore must hide every mistake they’ve ever made and act like puppets with a hand up their ass. Maybe this girl is exactly what you need,” Anya replies.

“Your dad is one of those freaks,” Lexa states, but she knows she can’t really argue; Anya’s right.

-

The Trikru is exactly what Lexa expected as she gets out of her car. Seemingly the hotspot of LA’s hipsters, Lexa definitely stands out in her business suit. She takes off her jacket and throws it in her passenger seat, leaving her in a white button down rolled to her elbows and a red tie. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she takes a deep breath. She shouldn’t feel so nervous about this.

Clarke is sitting at a table for two drinking a smoothie. Lexa stops in place before Clarke notices her, just to look at her. She’s definitely not dressed as professionally as Lexa; she’s wearing a beanie and a tank top with a whole lot of sideboob. It has to be like eighty degrees out, Lexa thinks, because she is definitely feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Griffin,” Lexa says as she takes a seat. She slides her bag under the chair, pulling out only a pen and a brand new notebook.

“Call me Clarke.” Lexa looks up at Clarke, leaning back in her chair and smiling at her. Smiling at her with those unusually blue eyes, Lexa notices. Suddenly she’s not sure if it’s eighty degrees, because she definitely has goosebumps.

“Okay… Clarke,” Lexa says, “so my first question is pretty simple. How did you become a museum curator, especially at such a young age?” 

Clarke straightens herself up in her seat before answering. “It just kind of happened.. I was free from college and I wanted to follow my passion. College hadn’t allowed that for me, so I went in a totally new direction. I started making pieces of art at the speed of light. I got out all that pent up, well, emotions, that I had, and it made some really beautiful stuff. I started at local galleries, you know, for people experimenting in art. And people liked my stuff and it all went uphill from there. I was friends with a lot of museum curators and their job didn’t seem interesting to me in the slightest. I liked what I was doing- being a hot mess who lived off my art. But then they announced a new museum was going to be made and they said, Clarke, you’ve got to do this. You have an eye and people love you. So here I am.”

“Your college, I assume, would be… Harvard Medical School?” Lexa replies. “What happened there?” Clarke leans back in her chair and laughs, kind of bitterly. 

“Should’ve figured you’d ask,” she says. “Yeah, I was studying to be a doctor. I was in my junior year, I had a 4.0 GPA, and I was soaring. My professors loved me, and they all said, here we go, we have the doctor who’s going to change the medical world. They knew my parents, of course, who are both highly successful doctors. And then, uh, well. This local art show for some college kids was being hosted at a nearby college. So I went and I saw all this art and I was, well… I was taken aback. I looked at it quietly, and at the end of the night I said to myself. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I want to make art.”

“Your parents must have been…” Lexa stops writing and looks up at Clarke. “Well, disappointed, I assume?” Clarke nods, smiling to herself.

“My mom was pretty much mortified. She demanded I go back to school at once, of course we knew they’d take me back if I changed my mind quick enough. But no I took the first flight from Boston to LA. My mom never called but my dad did. One night, a couple nights after I had left, he said to me, ‘Well, we always knew you’d be different. Medically, of course, but this is different nonetheless.’ And him saying that… that’s why I’m still here, not regretting a single thing. This is just who I am.” 

Lexa didn’t know when she had stopped taking notes, but by the time Clarke finished her sentence Lexa found herself staring at Clarke intently. Regardless of her realization, she began asking questions out of her own mind rather than her interview questions. She wanted to know… everything, really.

“Where did you go when you got here? Did you have a place to stay?” Lexa is sitting straight up, genuinely interested. But before Clarke can answer, two donuts are set down between them. Lexa stares at them as if he put down a live cow heart. “Clarke…”

“Oh, I ordered before you came,” Clarke says. “Sorry, I didn’t know what you like, but they have the best homemade donuts ever. Try it.” Clarke picks up her donut and bites into it anything but elegantly. 

“I don’t, uh- that has a lot of carbohydrates,” Lexa says, nearly mortified. “Do you really believe that’s good for your body, Clarke?” 

“Well it sure does taste good for my body,” Clarke replies. “I think you can handle something a little unhealthy, Lexa. I mean look at you. You look sharp as hell right now, I mean wow.” Lexa blushes and puts her hands in her lap shyly. 

“Are you… are you flirting with me, Clarke?” Lexa says, narrowing her eyes at the beautiful girl shoving a donut in her mouth. Lexa laughs at the sight.

“Can’t a girl tell a girl how hot she is without being flirty?” Clarke says, winking. Lexa bites her lip and looks down at her notebook. “To answer your question, by the way. My high school best friend Raven moved here right out of high school to Silicon Valley because she’s, like, a mad genius. So I roomed with her till this art thing took off, and now she helps me out with the museum. I’ll probably have to find my own place after the museum opens and Raven goes back to writing codes all day again.” 

“Weren’t you afraid, though? Of changing your entire life like that, I mean.” Lexa rips off a piece of the donut and slides it in her mouth. When her eyes go wide, Clarke just grins.

“Of course I was scared,” Clarke says, almost softly. “But do you not do something just because it scares you?” Lexa shakes her head as she finishes the insanely amazing (as promised) donut. “Exactly. So I just did what I thought would make me happy, and let the universe decide what happened next.” 

Maybe Clarke really is a space girl, Lexa realizes, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.


End file.
